after “un cap franchi” by Lisa Pasold
(Method: writing a line between each of hers)
culinary bruises, there's the space between
my eyes, furrowed lines sketching out
her names, heavy and constantly
volubile. speak, taken aback, trekked deep into that
white-night capitulating. all nightgown and balcony-
fondled, all caterwauling and lolita lollipops
bloodied juliet. every inflated disagreement
his back slammed to wall, to covenants
redressed, her receptions keep turning into
rosaries, daily ablutions fire-hot blessed water
my deceptions. rearrange my tattoos
a sketch pad or palimpsest clue-sought
and i'm set for the next amorous equivalency.
backgammon or years of chess played close to the bone
once swallowed, the question's rather less
tactile than plastified. her game overwrought more forthright
than promised: however many storeys up, the ground
is given over his name given up, spit out. my mouth
becomes moot.
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1 comment:
yippee my laptop is working again...back online & really happy to find this! the inter-line worked brilliantly here! am flattered.
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